


Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

by ChangHenGe



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, One Shot, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangHenGe/pseuds/ChangHenGe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Set during the episode on the 18th Feb, after Christian and Syed go for food and before they get to the Vic. Clearly<i> something</i> happened, did you not see the state of Syed's shirt? And the Cheshire cat grins :D</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

My mum always used to say _I want, doesn't get_. It was her stock response to Tam's plea for those weird pokemon cards or Shab's demand to go to another party. Want is bad, I learnt. It is selfish. Distracts you from better things like ought, should, duty. I used to agree. It's just sometimes…want becomes need and everything becomes more confused.

One time, in what seems like a lifetime ago, Christian said to me, _what Christian Clarke wants, Christian Clarke gets._ And despite my obvious immediate reaction to roll my eyes at how only Christian could _still_ act like a spoilt 5 year old at the age of 37 and yet expect compliments rather than chastisement, part of me twinged with something else, like affection, like sympathy, like love. Maybe it was because of his wide-eyed grin, maybe it because we were lying in bed and the adrenalin had failed to stop flooding my system with pulsating heat, or maybe because back then I knew he wasn't getting what he wanted, not really, and I couldn't help the guilt that that thought produced in me. And even now that he has, maybe that feeling still lingers, the mixture of irritation and love, that desire to want him to give him all he wants, to make that smile burst across his face, to relish in the knowledge that that came from me.

And right now, the man I want is sitting next to me on our sofa, with a cup of tea in his hand and a smile on his face.

"You sure you're okay about it?" I ask, again.

"I'm sure," he replies, again. "Like we said, it just wasn't meant to be this time. And anyway it'll give me a chance to give my full attention to matters at hand."

I grin, letting ocean waves of relief flood over me. Again. Since we saw the test results I have been unable to stop this almost dizzying sense of a reprieve being granted and now I feel lightheaded and giddy. The only thing that I worried could have burst this bubble was Christian being truly heartbroken. But judging by the smirk that is tilting at the corners of his mouth, he seems to have found some suitable form of compensation.

"Like the business right? Sorting out your book-keeping for example. Seriously Christian, if my masseur stuff comes together then you'll have to start doing more of the accounts yourself."

"Yeah, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind." He lays his cup to the side and drags me over to sit on his lap facing him. He starts nuzzling into my neck, his tongue poking out for quick licks here and there while his fingers draw wide circles over my back. "Y'see, Sy, I was thinking about far more interesting things than _work_." He utters the final word like he is swallowing a particularly unpleasant taste and I tighten my lips to prevent the laugh from falling. "And besides," he continues, breathing heavily into my ear, his hands dragging down my shirt and cupping my arse, "you know I like to prefer to be hands-on whenever possible."

And now I can't help but laugh freely even as I arch my back and grind further into his palms. I reach across to him and stroke a hand down his face, my smile broadening even more when he turns his head slightly to lay a soft kiss on his fingers. He looks up at me, his eyes suddenly more serious, but the softness in them threatens to rob me of all strength.

"I love you Syed," he states, with clear certainty and calmness. I can't prevent my stomach from flipping, my body from responding with the same clarity and physical longing as it does every time he says that to me, the way it always has, right from the start. But there is no longer any resulting lurch of cold fear gripping at my insides. Instead there is its joyful replacement, this giddy sunburst of happiness that warms as it glows and flickers within. I savour the intensity and light that reflects back to me now in his gaze, staring at me as if we haven't seen each other, not truly seen each other, in too long a while. I want to speak, or move, but I have no desire to break this mood and so remain stock-still in a heart-pounding skin-tingling silence that builds and builds between us until Christian's low voice, made even deeper with untrammelled desire, declares, "I want you."

My heart thumps.

My blood pounds.

My skin shivers.

My cock throbs.

"You have me," I reply, simply, my heart singing with the truth.

His solemn composure cracks as a breath-taking grin wraps its way around his beautiful features. That grin, the smile that dragged me from my home, my life, my lies, and now rewards such past pain with daily promises of continual delight that I would do anything to achieve.

"Yeah, I know. It's amazing. You and me, us, it's the most important thing to me. It's just the best thing ever isn't it?" With no response necessary, he beams at me and launches himself at my delighted body with a hearty vigour. "I am sorry about all the stuff before," he murmurs, between kisses to my neck that send shivers down my spine and caresses of my hair that send bolts of electricity racing through my scalp. "That I got all…"

"…carried away and out of control?" I ask, trying to find the politest words I can, whilst my brain rapidly departs from my head to focus entirely on matters further below. I feel his pout even before I hear it in his voice.

"I was going for enthusiastic."

"Hmmmm…" I murmur noncommittally. "I think I'm quite fond of you being enthusiastic. In the right circumstances…" I pull his head over to me, to edge my mouth along the curve of his throat, to lap at the smooth ridges and sharp stubble that nestles along his jaw, wanting this, wanting him and not wanting to loiter any longer in that particular dead-end alley.

I feel his body suddenly still, his hands halt in their exploration of my hair and he pulls himself back slightly to look at me, his eyes alive with mischief, the familiar hints of a smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth. I wait, patiently, for his move, even as I can still taste the savoury tang of his skin resting on my tongue.

"I was thinking I might show you just how restrained I can be."

"Restrained?" I ask, curiosity knitting my brows together. Restraint isn't the first word I would think to use with Christian. Or the second or third. I didn't think it existed in his dictionary.

His hands move carefully down my head to stroke along my arms and grasp my hands, pulling them up to sit on the top button of my shirt.

"Take it off," he demands lowly, and leans back, resting on his arms. "I'm not going to do a thing but watch," he grins, his eyes covering my clothed body with such greed that I am forced to let my eyes shut just to let myself breath.

I open my eyes again and my fingers begin to wrestle with the first suddenly tight button, yanking it out with unexpected force.

"Slower," he commands, and desire burns through my veins. I continue, slower, much slower, forcing myself to feel each and every sensation; the smoothness of the cotton, the cold sheen of the buttons, the roughness of the thread around the buttonhole, the sudden touch of my skin, warm and alive under his unblinking gaze. He begins to talk, to speak quiet longing words that seem to float easily in the air between us, belonging no longer to his mouth and not yet for my ears, but existing for the two of us together. Every word, every utterance of wordless pleasure fills my mind, halts my demands, and drags my fingers to an ever more languid pace. My world has shrunk to these moments and this small space. There is nothing anymore, nothing but us.

As the last button enters into unrestrained freedom and my shirt falls open, I see his fingers twitching by his side, but he confines himself to the tip of a red tongue, emerging delicately to lick lightly over perfect lips in a movement so deliberate and licentious that I find myself shaking and wondering how it is that once again his restraint leaves me the one who is desperate. I shrug my undone shirt off my shoulders, letting the fabric fall softly behind me then go to stand up so that I can take off my jeans. But Christian's hands move swiftly to grab my hips, pushing me back down onto his lap and holding me firm. I can feel him hard beneath me, the thrill of his body causing an aching sense of delight to flood over me with familiar ease.

"Stay here and take them off."

His hands are still on my hips, his thumbs smoothing over the top of the jeans, covering both brief touches of skin and of denim, his nail lightly scratching a line over the flesh , an unexpectedly sensual pleasure that sends shivers pulsating through me. I unfasten my jeans and begin to push them off, raising my thighs up slightly in order to slide them down, then wriggling as hands and knees and thighs all wrestle with uncooperative fabric. It's an awkward movement, unnecessary and cumbersome, but I know why Christian demanded it so as every wriggle, every gesture, every manoeuvre sends our bodies colliding tighter together, our legs and groins pressing and grinding, and the sound of Christian's low-pitched moans with every increase of pressure is resonating through my every nerve and sinew.

Eventually, after some contortions of Houdini-esque proportions, I kick my jeans and boxers to the floor and fall forward onto Christian, laughing with delight and relief as he now grabs my naked body, his hands roaming freely around my back and over my arse, gripping me hard and stroking me smoothly, pressing me hard into his still clothed form.

"Now this doesn't seem quite fair," I moan into his ear, my hands fisting tight in the warm wool of his jumper, Christian's movements and my own desire driving my cock to thrust further into the firm denim of his jeans, rubbing the heat of my flesh into the coarse rough fabric that fails to mask his own aching hardness.

"Seems fine to me," he smirks back, his nails scratching fierce clawlike lines down my back causing my eyes to flicker shut with the heat and the burn.

"Oh yeah?" I bite my lip and open my eyes again, releasing my white knuckled grip on his jumper as I pull back slightly, letting my fingers roam instead to the brief flashes of skin now on show just above his waistband. "So you want to stay like this?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly with desire. It is normally him who uses his voice to brings me to my knees, but I know too what affect a few choice words can have on him, and as I continue, I lower my gaze to stare at him in the way that so often results in me lying face down, my body at his delicious mercy. "You don't want to feel your skin…against my skin?" He bites his grinning lips and widens his eyes, his body stilled and I know he is waiting for more. Waiting for more words to drop from my mouth, more temptation to drive the lust that roams wild in his flesh, more anticipation to build and build until neither of us can take it anymore. And right now I am happy to oblige, right now there is nothing more desirable than the power of his passion and the knowledge of my role in creating it. I would always find more for him. "Don't want to let me look at you…all of you? Don't want to watch me looking at you?" I add, in as innocent a tone as I can muster, in the sure and safe knowledge that he this is more than he could possibly resist.

He smirks and pulls himself back away from me, crossing his hands behind his head, resting his shoulders against the back of the sofa. "You really wanna see me naked Sy?"

It ought to be a rhetorical question but he is waiting for a reply. The only reply there could ever be. "Oh _yes_."

"C'mon then, like I said, I'm not gonna do a thing."

"Lazy," I scowl in my weakest pretence of annoyance and he starts to laugh, but it catches in his throat and soon disappears completely into a drawn-out groan as I dive my mouth down to his waist, pressing my lips against the warm skin lurking so temptingly under clothes, my tongue roaming its way up a delicious path to his navel while my hands start to push his top up higher and higher. His body is revealed thus, inch by perfectly gorgeous inch, my tongue the lucky recipient and grateful conduit for the multitude of desires racing through my mind and my body.

My hands expose and my tongue explores the familiar sensations given to me, unwrapping him carefully from his covering of clothes, savouring the sense of belonging. I bury my head in the satin smoothness of his skin, glistening flesh held taut over rippling muscle and sinew. The power of him is incredible, and never more so when held in repose as here with the strength of his restraint apparent in the tensing of his muscles and the tight gripping of his jaw. He is the most impulsive man I know, a herd of bulls inside a shopping mall filled with china, but he can be patient when he wants, when the eventual reward is plentiful and lavish and certain. At times like this, his body becomes a pit of latent energy and desire, nerves vibrating with withheld tension, waiting and waiting for their chance to fall into frenzied wildness. The thought of his wildness nearly causes me to lose it completely and I shut my eyes to regain a modicum of calm.

Breathing settles and I reopen the my eyes, pushing Christian's top up further until it reaches the impasse of his almost obscenely broad shoulders, framing a mass of pure muscle and strength below, tender eyes and desiring lips above. I pause, and he silently but cooperatively raises his arms, letting me remove it with ease. I throw it unceremoniously over his shoulder, hearing it fall helplessly onto the floor as I fall helplessly into his neck, ignoring the low murmur of his tease, _so untidy_. I suck and I lick in this hollow of heated musky flesh, the sharp stubble of his chin rubbing against the top of my head, his hands pushing my body back into his, our bare chests sliding together reminding themselves of the hollows and grooves that form our perfect fit. I feel the throb of his pulse under my tongue, the steady beat of his blood rushing round his powerful form and I stretch a hand out to rest over his chest, letting the strength of his body overwhelm my senses. Two firm palms cup my face and tilt me up to see him, his eyes bearing silent witness to the wordless vows of his strong beating heart.

This is what I want. What I have always wanted.

My hands travel south, my eyes not leaving his even as buckles are released, zips are lowered, hands tug hard on unwanted fabric as I yank his jeans down, too far gone to care for style or finesse, just desperate moves from eager fingers to bare his flesh. I drop off the sofa to sit at his feet, kicking the jeans out from beneath my knees, gazing up at his chiselled face, all cheekbones and lips, bright eyes now hooded with downcast lashes and hungry with want.

"Sy," he utters my name with definite purpose, like he needs no other words and a shiver runs down my spine. My eyes flick over to his boxer-clad groin, the cotton now stretched and straining, its attempts at concealment long since abandoned as it serves now as a plea, a demand, a longing for freedom and release, and suddenly a longing to tease brings a renewed sense of patience to my eager body.

" _Sy_ ," he states again, more urgently.

"What?" I ask, wide eyed and guileless.

"You _know_ what."

I move slowly to his crotch, pressing my open mouth to the tight cotton, letting my tongue draw damp circles over the top of his covered cock. I take my time and wait until I feel his hands find purchase in my hair and hear his mouth order his strained command.

"Take 'em off."

I grin and quickly divest us of the offending, interfering clothes, and then pause, the tip of my tongue poking out of my lips mere millimetres from his hard cock.

His hands grip harder and gently but firmly move my head further forward. "Bloody tease," he groans but any other words are lost, as with an eager swipe of my tongue across his head, he dissolves into half-voiced moans and vowel soaked cries.

I don't think there can be many better sensations than this. Sucking on him, licking his length, feeling the weight of him rest heavy and full in my mouth. His might and force are writ large and clear in the grip of his hands, the muscles of his long long legs that wrap themselves around me, but at the same time, he lies so open and vulnerable to me. His gasps and moans unashamedly fill the air of the flat and send bolts of electricity shuddering through my arousal, causing my mouth to take him in deeper, my hands to move further over his balls, between his cheeks.

His hands suddenly pull my head away, dragging me up to find his urgently seeking mouth. "Not yet," he mumbles through open mouthed frantic kisses, his tongue plundering my mouth, his hands groping my arse. A slick wet finger probes gently at me, his eyes asking a question that my body answers easily as I move to accommodate him, groaning into his mouth at the pleasant but slightly surprising intrusion. It occurs to some still vaguely functioning part of my brain to ask where the hell the lube came from, here on the sofa, but then all thoughts are tipped out of my mind by the movement of his fingers inside, and all words are flooded out of my mouth by the feel of his tongue against mine.

I pull away to gulp in long denied oxygen, and stare down at the intoxicating sight before me, our bodies pressed tight together as one set of fingers thrust inside me, the others gripping my hip tight. His hand moves slightly, his fingers adjust their angle and wanton keens fall liberally from my mouth as body trembles and my veins fizz with lightning flashes of pleasure.

A tongue starts lapping languidly at the hollow of my neck, a low voice murmuring into the damp skin. "You are so beautiful baby, so fucking gorgeous…You taste so fucking good…You gonna ride me Sy? I wanna just sit back and watch you go, yeah?"

"So demanding," I gasp as he licks up behind my ear.

"You _love_ it. And you know full well I give as good as I get," he replies and as his fingers twist within and threaten to tip me over the edge. My hands tighten their grip on his shoulders and he slowly pulls out of me, leaning back on the sofa again as I cannot help but whimper quietly from their loss.

He lies back, leaving his body exposed and glorious to my licentious eyes. The sight of him like this, oh fuck. I nearly forget where we are, what I am doing, I nearly forget what my own bloody name is. He looks like a Greek god, all ripped and gleaming with dewdrops of sweat. He is desperately hard and waiting for me, and that thought nearly steals every last gasp of breath that is still lurking in my lungs. My thoughts must be written clear on my face as he reaches for my hand and drags it to stroke his cock.

"It's all yours Sy, I'm all yours. _Take_ me."

Well what choice do I have? There are some demands that I am only too happy to comply with.

I edge myself down on him, prolonging the pleasure as much as allowing my body time to adjust. And oh _fuck_ when I feel him full in me, when I feel him deep and deep within, so much part of me that for a minute I forget what it feels like to be apart, then I cannot stop the half muffled sob from leaving my mouth, nor prevent my eyes from falling shut.

"I could look at your like this all day. You're incredible." Christian's voice is quiet and filters through my lust addled brain. His hand runs through my hair and strokes gently down my face, his fingers drawing an outline over my lips. "Open your eyes baby. I want to see your eyes." They obediently burst open, and he smiles slowly, his hips gently thrusting upwards as he does so, shaking my body and making me gasp as my eyes widen and gape at him. "Oh yeah, that look in your eyes. I wanna see that. You feel so amazing round me Sy, so tight baby, so fucking hot."

His hands grip my hips again, pressing tight enough to feel the imprint of his nails into my skin. I arch my back, letting him creep that bit further inside and then, push down, grinding into him, letting him hit me deeper and deeper. But he thrusts back up, his hips angling, his hands a fierce pressure on me, his pent up desire unleashed, like an anaconda uncurling and seizing its might. I anchor myself with a white knuckled firm grasp on Christian's shoulders, letting our bodies collide in a familiar synchronicity. Sweat beads and falls down my body, damp locks fall into my eyes and are I toss my head to prevent them from obstructing my perfect sight of him.

Sober thoughts fail as we become instead a single of mass of sensations. A hip-thrusting, muscle-aching, sweat-dripping, hand-gripping, voice-groaning, mouth-drying, lip-biting, thigh-clenching, brain-numbing, nerve-buzzing, skin-trembling mass of frenzied passion and colliding lust. My eyes slam shut as a thousand burning bright flashes of colour threaten to blind my darkness, every nerve ending twitching as I hear the sound of desperate moans drop from my helpless lips and flood the air, my body shuddering, a tremor of ecstatic bliss enveloping an uncoordinated heap of limbs. While I let my body soak in waves of perfect pleasure, I feel Christian tremble and shake with erratic thrusts and cry out with unashamed abandon and I fall forward to rest my whirling light-headed body in his most welcoming of embraces.

I think lazily of staying like this for a while, at least until we get too cold. Then a shower, then bed. I smile with closed eyes, and press the gentlest of kisses to his broad chest.

"Right c'mon, I fancy a drink!" Christian's ridiculously energetic voice invades my daze as he gently pushes me off him, a vigorous kiss to my swollen mouth the only sop to my sulky and half asleep moan.

"A drink?"

"Yes, lazybones, I feel all…invigorated after that."

"That's because I did all the work," I grumble and he laughs delightedly.

"Yep and you did it so well we ought to celebrate. So let's pop down the Vic, grab a drink, say happy birthday to Mo, laugh at the rest of Walford who have nowhere better to be on a Friday night…"

"Like us you mean," I mutter, but we both know that the battle is more a formality than anything else. We both know that at this moment, when the afterglow of bliss is worn like a shimmering protective coat, that I would grant him _anything_.

" _We're_ just granting them the pleasure of our brief company to remind them how fabulous we are and how desperately jealous they should all be of me cos they don't have such an obscenely hot, and amazingly loving boyfriend."

"Is that supposed to make me go all gooey and agree to anything?"

"Yep. C'mon slowcoach, get your clothes on."

I glance round and spot to my amazement that Christian is already fully dressed again, ear to ear grin beaming out at me as if I have any willpower left to refuse him.

"Alright, alright," and I pull myself up, hunting for discarded clothes under the sofa and over the TV to the accompaniment of Christian's eager chatter and impatient chivvying. "Where did that come from anyway?" I ask, chucking the bottle of lube at him.

"The other week, remember when you came in all shattered and collapsed on the sofa being all bossy and saying you weren't going to move from there all night and I'd have to give you everything right there. So I did."

"Oh yeah." I try to distract myself from the flush deepening on my face and the twinge in my groin by wrestling with my shirt, untangling sleeves and shrugging it over my shoulders. As I lean over to pull up my jeans I feel the firm cuff of his palm on my arse and I burst out laughing. "That's really not going to help us get out here is it?"

"Ha, no. But I'll put it back on the 'to do' list for later," he grins, grabbing my undone shirt and buttoning about half of the buttons. "Come on, that'll do, let's go," and he leaps energetically over the sofa to open the front door and start flying down the stairs.

I quickly button my jeans, shove my shoes back on, grab my coat and follow him, attempting and failing to finish buttoning my shirt and to flatten my hair into some kind of respectability as I run down to the street.

"Stop fussing, you look fabulous as you are," Christian grins, dropping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into a hug as we walk.

"I can't believe you just dragged me out without a shower," I grumble quietly and am almost deafened by the burst of spirited laughter that echoes through the evening air.

"You're filthy…ooh but you're gorgeous!" he sings in a piercing falsetto and I lose all ability to feign anymore annoyance at his irritating gloriousness. We laugh with joy and love and walk to the Vic drapsed in the comfort and delight of each other's embrace.

No-one can get everything they want. And even though I might have to whisper it in front of Christian, I think that that's probably for the best. Besides, it just makes those moments when your heart sings with sated desire and fulfilled need taste all the more delicious.

Sometimes, I want, just might get.


End file.
